


A Family Matter

by DangerousCommieSubversive



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Evil, Dubious Consent, Earth-3 (Crime Syndicate Universe), M/M, Manipulation, Mirror Universe, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Pseudo-Incest, Threesome - M/M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, Voyeurism, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 14:38:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerousCommieSubversive/pseuds/DangerousCommieSubversive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whenever Jason thinks he's finally managed to make a new life for himself, the family always pulls him back in.</p><p>Pure, unadulterated porn. Kinda dark. Takes place in an evil alternate universe that's <em>not quite</em> Earth-3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Family Matter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zethsaire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zethsaire/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Семейное дело](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10708305) by [fierce_cripple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fierce_cripple/pseuds/fierce_cripple)



> My friend asked for this, and then traded me Daken/Catman art for it. ^_^ Enjoy!

Years of Owlman's tutelage had taught Jason Wayne always to go for the killing strike.

When death had come for him the first time, he'd welcomed it, hoping that it might free him from the sight of any more gashed throats or stab wounds. And when he'd woken up, later, he'd thought for a while that he'd succeeded, that he could move on, be more than his past, more than just the youthful enforcer of a nightmare's will.

Muscle memory, however, apparently carried beyond the grave, and the first time he'd cut a drug dealer's throat on automatic he'd stared at his knife in horror. And family loyalty lasted past death, too, because try as he might not to listen to what his brothers told him, he did always end up doing what they wanted him to do.

They were _family._

Case in point: he _didn't_ swerve, didn't jerk to throw the intruder off, just slowed to a stop in a quiet side street when a weight landed on the back of his motorcycle. Arms wrapped around him in a lover's embrace, long-fingered hands slid into the open front of his jacket and traced over his stomach, a chin came to rest on his shoulder, and Dick's voice in his ear cooed, “Hello, Jason.”

He sighed. “What do you want, Shadowclaw?”

“Oh, is that any way to talk to family? Why not start with 'hi, Dick, it's nice to see you again, it's been way too long since the last time we talked.' That'd be more friendly. Or maybe even 'why hello, big brother, I've missed you so.' But no, you just want to know what I want. Rude.”

“Can you _not_ do that? For once?”

“Do what, little brother?”

“Talk like you're hitting on me.”

“Why should I make an exception for you?”

A faint roar, and then Tim pulled up close beside them, his motorcycle idling softly for a moment and then turning off. When he stopped, he faded into the shadows completely, still visible only by the gleam of his round goggles in the streetlights. “Evening, Jason. We've missed you back at the Roost.”

“Well, I haven't missed you.”

Dick's arms around him tightened. “Don't be like that, Jay.” A faint rustle—Jason knew that if he hadn't had his helmet on, he would have been able to feel Dick's breath against his ear. “Why not come by for a visit?”

“Bruce would like to see you.” Tim was observing him intently, and it suddenly threw into sharp relief to Jason how purposefully unnerving the Talon suit was, in a way that he'd never realized when he'd worn it himself. It was like being watched by a shadow. “You know he wishes you'd stop by more. He misses you.”

“Bruce doesn't miss me. He didn't even have enough emotion to feel sorry when I died.”

“True enough. But _we_ miss you.” Dick reached out and ran a glove hand down the side of Tim's face, coming to rest with his fingers splayed over Tim's cheek, thumb resting on the other man's lower lip. He shifted forward to press against Jason's back. “You've never even gotten a chance to...see if the new Talon measures up.” A pause, and then Jason swallowed hard as he watched Tim purse his lips _around_ Dick's thumb, watchful gaze now predatory. Dick laughed softly. “Just the one night, Jason?”

Jason's eyes were riveted on the leather of Dick's glove as the older criminal pulled his thumb slowly out of Tim's mouth and then pressed it in again. He couldn't say anything. If he'd spoke, he'd just say something stupid. Like, “Please.”

Dick's other hand had worked its way under Jason's shirt, and was tracing distracting patterns on his stomach. “For old times' sake.”

“I...yes. Yes, ok. Let's get going.”

Tim pulled back and away and said, “I knew you'd see it our way.”

Jason shuddered and revved his motorcycle, and Dick purred in his ears, “ _That's_ a good boy.”

By the time they got to the Roost from the city, Dick had already opened Jason's belt and half-undone the fly of his jeans, gloved hand stroking in a way that made it _very_ difficult to concentrate on steering. Which was the game, of course, Dick's favorite game, seeing how far he could push someone before they folded—or cracked. Tim zoomed along beside them, occasionally shooting a sidelong glance at where Dick was massaging Jason's crotch.

At the Roost, Jason moved to park his bike properly, but Dick said, “Leave it,” and so he did, especially as Dick only gave him enough time to lean it against the back of a nearby console before grabbing him by his belt loops and pulling him over to the padded training area. “Come on, Jay, let's get you out of those old clothes.”

He practically walked out of his boots, and Tim had his jacket stripped away and tossed over a console before they'd even reached the training space, still watching him with analytical intentness. They arrived at their destination, and Dick spun him and shoved him backwards onto a pile of mats. “Timmy, be sweet and unlace me, would you?”

The mask concealed too much of Tim's face for his expression to be obvious, but Jason could tell the younger man was rolling his eyes. “Of course, Dick. Although I still don't see why you fight in an outfit that you need help to get into and out of.”

“Well, that's sort of the _point_ , isn't it?”

Jason could only watch, transfixed, as Tim undid the fastening at the back of Dick's neck and began to unlace the back of his costume.

When he'd first met Dick, he hadn't understood the costume either. He hadn't seen the appeal of elbow-length gloves not adorned by any weapon or reinforcement until he'd seen Dick bite the tip of his finger and draw one off with his teeth. Hadn't seen the point of the corset-laced back or the two-inch heels or the rippling pattern of gray and brown 'V' shapes that ran the length of his torso until he'd watched Dick move in the shadows and leap from one rooftop to another.

It wasn't about camouflage.

It was _all_ about _highlighting_ , throwing into sharp relief everything that made Dick desirable and attractive. The patterning on the chest drew the eye _down._ The heeled boots made you look back _up_ again, dragging your gaze along the lines of his legs as you did so, and the laces simply accentuated the curvature of his back, like a second spine laid along his skin. Dick loved nothing in the world so much as being _looked_ at, being the center of attention, and he'd designed his costume to maximize that.

And now it was opening, an inch at a time as Tim unthreaded the laces and revealed skin faintly tanned by the sun, and Dick looked back over his shoulder and pulled a glove off with his teeth, one corner of his mouth curling up. Jason made a completely incoherent noise. He'd been half-hard since Dick had landed on the back of his bike, and this was almost more than he could take.

Which had clearly been Dick's plan all along, as he tugged off his other glove and let it fall from his teeth to the ground. “Enjoying the show, Jason?” His back was almost completely bare now, and he peeled out of the top of his costume as Tim dropped to one knee to undo the laces on the backs of his boots. “Why don't you show me how much fun you're having.”

Jason lifted a hand and hesitated.

“Go on.” Dick stepped out of one boot, and then the other. “Let us see.”

He made a helpless noise and opened his fly the rest of the way, shoved his boxers down and wrapped a hand around his own erect cock. “Dick...”

Dick turned to him and smiled blindingly. “Yes, Jason? Was there something you wanted?” His gaze stayed on Jason, but his hands were at work on Tim, divesting him of cape and cowl, stripping the smaller man out of layers of armor as if he were a gift to be unwrapped.

Jason couldn't say anything, could only stare and stroke himself.

“You brought me a bottle, didn't you, Tim?”

Wordlessly, Tim handed Dick a bottle of lube. Without his armor the younger man seemed so _small,_ so _young,_ but he still had that intent look. A killer's eyes and a criminal's faint smile, in a smoothly-muscled body like a dancer's.

“You're so sweet.” Dick slid a hand under Tim's chin, bent down so that their lips were almost brushing. “What did we ever do without you.”

“Less.” Tim pressed his face into Dick's hand, suddenly less tense. “You're in charge here, Dick. What did you want _me_ to do?”

“Go get a taste of Jay, baby bird. Let's show him what he's been missing, avoiding us like he has.”

Tim's immediate obedience was _eerie,_ Jason thought. Everyone did what Bruce told them to do because they were _afraid_ of him, but when Tim did everything _Dick_ told him to do it didn't look like fear.

It practically looked like worship.

And then his brain completely shut off, because Tim had come to kneel between his legs. The younger man took hold of his wrist with a grip like steel, gaze predatory, and in one smooth motion pulled his hand out of the way and bent down to lick the head of his cock.

The noise he made was positively idiotic.

Tim smirked. “I always did want to know what failure tasted like.”

“Tim.” Dick slid onto the pile of mats behind Jason, wrapping his arms around the other man's chest. “Be nice. We're trying to show him a good time, aren't we? Convince him to come back to the fold.”

“I never said I didn't _like_ it.”

“I can't imagine how you've managed to last this long with all these clothes still in the way, little brother.” Hands at his throat, lingering for a moment too close to the pulse point and then sliding down to the hem of his shirt. “You should take them off.”

“You sound like a bad porno,” Jason gasped as Tim's tongue traced down the side of his cock.

“It's a skill.”

His shirt was thrown into the corner. “You're a...a tacky asshole.”

“And yet you're still _so_ hard.” Dick leaned forward, his bare chest pressing against Jason's back, and twisted his fingers in Tim's hair. “And anyway, it's not like you ever tell me no.”

\--

The Roost was, as a matter of course, peppered with tiny cameras. The entire manor was, the whole city of Gotham, in fact. Nothing happened in the city that did not come under the watchful, thoughtful, analytical eye of Owlman.

But tonight Bruce Wayne's eyes were only on one thing.

On the monitor Jason was naked, writhing as Tim's head bobbed between his legs, back arching as Dick pressed fingers into him. His eyes were shut tight, his expression almost pained. He bit his lip, and Dick pulled his head back and whispered in his ear, too low for the microphones to pick up.

Bruce Wayne, however, could read lips, and he leaned forward in his chair, his interest in the scene he observed only betrayed by the tension in his shoulders and the growing bulge in his pants.

To an experienced lip-reader, Dick was saying, _“I'm going to let him fuck you, Jay. You'd like that, right? Getting fucked by your replacement.”_

 _“Please.”_ Jason's hair was falling in his eyes, the white streak thrown into sharp relief against his sun-darkened skin. _“Please, please, please.”_

_“Tim, stop him if he gets...ahead of us. Owls do things together, don't we? We're family.”_

One of the corners of Bruce's mouth twitched, and he looked away from the monitor only to hit the button that locked the door of the observation room.

\--

He was so close, _so_ close, he could feel the coil of tension in his spine as every muscle in his body tightened and tightened more, could feel his shoulders press against Dick's chest, he was clenching around Dick's fingers, he was twitching in Tim's mouth, he was—

—stopping, Tim was stopping, Dick was pulling him away and instead his hand was wrapped tight around the base of Jason's cock. “Don't do that.”

“Fucking—”

“ _Yes,_ Jason, that's why you don't _get_ to yet.” Tim rolled his eyes, a weirdly teenage gesture from someone usually so chilly. “Weren't you listening?” He'd shifted forward, grabbing one of Jason's legs with his free hand and hooking it over his shoulder.

“We do these things _together._ ” Dick moved out from underneath Jason and pressed him back against the mats. “Don't you want him to fuck you, Jay?”

It was hard for him to focus his eyes at this point. The only clear thing, the only distinct sensation, was the pleasurable agony of Tim's grip.

“Answer me.” Dick threaded lube-slick fingers through Jason's hair and pulled his head back, forcing him to look up. The older man, the oldest of their brood, was still smiling as he always did, his eyes lit with a killing fervor. “Don't you want him to fuck you?”

“Yes. Yes. I do.”

“What do we say?”

\--

_“Please.”_

_This_ monitor was _not_ on the primary system, or at least not officially. It had been hacked on, given access to the primary feeds by a combination of careful network decryption and laughably primitive wire-splicing. The training room footage it displayed was grainy, the equipment not as fine as that Owlman saved for himself.

Damian Wayne, the Teen Terror, the young man they called Hellspawn, lay on his stomach on the bed with his hand between his legs, intent on the monitor screen.

He could read lips too.

_“Please. Please, I want him to fuck me. Please.”_

_“Ask him nicely, Jay. He's very good at it; we replaced you for a reason.”_

_“Please fuck me, Tim.”_

Tim didn't move. _“I prefer Talon when I'm working.”_

_“Please, Talon—”_

Damian jolted forward on the bed when he saw Tim make the first thrust, biting his other hand to muffle the noise he made. Another jolt as Dick moved to straddle Jason's shoulders, sinking deep into his mouth.

“Not old enough to _play,_ ” he muttered to the unhearing screen. “Fifteen bloody years old. I'm starting to think you just don't want to _share,_ Dick.”

\--

He'd sworn when he came back from the other side of death that he wasn't going to _do_ this any more, that he'd stop killing, that he wouldn't let Dick talk him _into_ things. But here he was now with Dick's cock in his mouth and hand in his hair, Tim fucking him so hard that _Dick_ jolted forward with every thrust. And he felt more relaxed than he had in a _long_ time, swear or no swear. It felt right, in a sick way, on his back under his comrades—his _brothers—_ and at their mercy.

He wanted to come.

Dick wouldn't let him.

Tim pressed his face between Dick's shoulderblades, breathing hard. “Dick. Dick, I, I need—” He sounded absolutely, unexpectedly broken, his breath coming in gasps with every thrust.

“Ssh.” Dick bent back and kissed him. “Ssh, yes, it's all right. Just give me another moment.”

Jason dug his fingers into Dick's hips, sucking hard, scraping the underside of Dick's cock lightly with his teeth.

And Dick _shook._ He was _laughing,_ bright-eyed, grip tightening in Jason's hair, and he threw his head back like an actor showing off and said, “Now. Now it's all right.”

Tim let go.

Jason spasmed as he came, tasted salt as Dick spilled in his mouth, felt the pulse of Tim coming in his ass, and for a moment it felt like he'd never died, or had perhaps died a thousand more times but had never been left alone. He was here with his brothers ( _in arms, brothers in arms, not my brothers_ ), and they were Owls, together in all things.

Dick got up and Tim pulled out and Jason swallowed hard, and at the sight of him swallowing Dick let out another bright and unexpected laugh and bent down to kiss him. It was a warm, possessive gesture; Dick never kissed _anyone_ unless he knew he owned them. “I knew you missed us, little brother. You should come back to the family. I'm sure Tim wouldn't mind, would you, Tim?”

“It wouldn't hurt to have someone else around.” Tim grinned, as viciously as possible for someone presumably still wrapped up in post-coital haze. “For cannon fodder, if nothing else. If he dies we can always bring him back again. Right, _Blue Blaze?_ ”

Jason winced and mumbled, “Just because I came back with you this _once—_ ”

“Once an Owl, always an Owl.” Dick kissed him again. “Besides, you'd do it if I asked you to, wouldn't you, Jay.”

Jason stared at him for a moment and then said, “Yes.”

There was a faint click, and they all lifted their heads as Bruce's voice— _Owlman's_ voice, they all knew that careful modulation—said, _“Boys. Clean up and suit up. The Jester is trying to interfere with one of my shipments; I need you at the docks. Talon, you're ground level. Shadowclaw, take the rooftops. Hellspawn and I will come if there's trouble.”_ A pause. _“Blue Blaze.”_

Jason jumped, the, “Yes, Owlman?” falling from his mouth before he could stop himself.

_“With Talon. No heroics. Talon, if he attempts to sabotage the operation, kill him.”_

Tim nodded, already half-dressed. “Yes, Owlman.”

Another pause. _“Welcome home, Jason. The family's missed you.”_

The pang of nostalgia in Jason's chest stung like poison. He was _different_ now. Not a _killer._ He wasn't an _Owl_ anymore.

He said, “Thank you, sir.”

“Jason.” Dick had already stood up, shaking out in a way that made his muscles ripple distractingly. “Be sweet and help lace me up, would you?”

Jason stood on automatic and moved to help him dress, because family loyalty, even to a family of murderers and criminals, lasted past death.

And he felt a jump in his lower belly when Tim brushed close by him, and Dick looked back over his shoulder to whisper, “Maybe we can do this again later.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed the story, please let me know!


End file.
